


O quam forti in ruinam

by ProwlingThunder



Series: Contritum Coronam [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Identity Issues, Injury, M/M, Memories, Past Life Magic, Past Lives, Past Relationships, Recovered Memories, Reincarnation, Sickness, Spoilers: Gralea Arc, Starscourge, Trauma Wakes Past Lives, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: A different hand who should pray with this blade.He'll give it to him. That's the-- the right thing to do, here. He'll find king or hand one, and press the hilt into their hands, and then..
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Original Male Character, Ravus Nox Fleuret/Ardyn Izunia
Series: Contritum Coronam [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605325
Kudos: 4





	O quam forti in ruinam

**Author's Note:**

> Reincarnation: Ustrina reincarnates as Ravus, remembers at the Alter of Leviathan.

Everything  _ hurts, _ inside and out, and there is nothing Ravus can do to ease his own pain. This body, this bloodline, has very limited magic; it is magic which heals, he knows, but it is magic that he has never had access to, for it is  _ very specific _ . It is magic which beckons the Astrals, that demands their attention for moving the waters, for healing the sick, for razing armies in Ifrit's holy fire.

It is the magic of  _ daughters.  _ Of Oracles.

_ But not all of it. _ Here, in his arm, grows the magic of Old Sol. He can feel it chasing it's way up from shoulder through throat into face, and knows because he  _ knows,  _ because he has seen, that it surges through him, tainted with the Scourge.

The arm is mostly metal and cannot be bled; he'll have to remove it later, piece by piece, lay it out in the sun and let it bake through. But in the meantime, he breathes out and pulls from what is old Sol, using that to fuel his chants. Here, in the keep inside Niflheim (Here, inside old Sol) there is so little of the natural world to pull from. So much of the magic he had known once has been taken swallowed up or elsewise tainted by the Scourge, as people have been taken by the Vanishing Sickness. (Rapid onset of last stage Starscourge. How could he have missed it, he wonders.)

The core is magitek, and it reacts to his pull, though his grasp on it is shaky at best. This body has never channeled magic, has never wrought a spell. It is  _ wrong _ in his hands, unused to manipulating it to do his bidding. But he knows the words it takes, wrote them for his children, to sooth scraped knees and the jagged teeth of thorns and bruises left behind from playing rough. He murmurs them into the air, impressing his will onto the world, onto his body. It was not  _ healing, _ healing was not his gift.. but it made it easier to move.

Drawing on it makes the Scourge spread. The infection is low, for the moment. He should be well, with sunlight.

_ I should move. _ He curls the fingers of his lost arm around the hilt of the King's Sword, remembering all the times he had held his own king's blade in his grasp while he prayed his husband would last through a night and into dawn. It is a different king, for this one. A different king whom should hold it. A different hand who should pray with this blade.

He'll give it to him. That's the-- the right thing to do, here. He'll find king or hand one, and press the hilt into their hands, and then..

He has a king of his own to find, after. A king driven into darkness, and it makes him tremble to know that his husband lives, still, after so long. Has he had  _ anyone, _ he wonders. Anyone to kneel by his bedside and whisper oaths of healing, never quite daring to call on the Astrals by name but hoping they would answer regardless, fatigue of communion be damned? Anyone at all to shake him, prod him out into sunlight, leech the Scourge from his blood and flesh?

He doubts it. No more, he decides, then. No more.

Ravus levers himself more steady to his feet, using the sword as a brace to simply keep from dragging it. He has used too much power in his attempt, the scourge sucking what the magitek core has to offer, and now he can barely lift the limb. He will have to move slow until he has the chance to recover--

At the end of the level's walkway, a Lucian king makes his way into the room.

The son of Regis, the fiancee of his beloved Lunafreya.. the King of Light. He struggles to bring the blade forward in offering, but his strength is waning. He will need  _ so much _ rest.

_ "Noctis," _ he breathes.

He says very little, after that. He breathes little longer, too.


End file.
